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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022714">Allerdale Hall All Hallows' Eve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alilloki3s3i3/pseuds/Alilloki3s3i3'>Alilloki3s3i3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Crimson Peak (2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Injury, Domestic Violence, Ghosts, Halloween, Inspired by Crimson Peak (2015), Mentions of Violence, Mentions of incest, Modern Era, Violence, boyfriend is an ass, mention of child's death, mostly happy ending, protective Thomas Sharpe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:34:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alilloki3s3i3/pseuds/Alilloki3s3i3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia from the United States and her boyfriend, Michael, are on vacation in Cumbria, UK on All Hallows' Eve. Intrigued and amused with the darkness and pain from learning the history of the Sharpe siblings, Michael decides to drag Amelia along on a "surprise" trip to see the place himself. What will they discover...or who will they discover? Amelia also learns that it is not ghosts that are always the monsters, but rather sometimes the people kept close to the heart.</p><p> </p><p>The ray of light from his flashlight streams into the dark sky while the sliver of a moon hides behind thick clouds. As he tilts the light ray towards the top of the gate, I am able to put all the letters together.<br/>“Allerdale Hall?” I continue to frown in confusion towards the menacing looking structure. Michael chuckles.<br/>“Yes, Amelia. But it is better known as Crimson Peak.” </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Surprise Road Trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi readers!</p><p>So, this is something COMPLETELY different than what I usually write. It's also my first non-Loki fic haha. Since Halloween is around the corner, I thought why not make a fic like this. So heads up it is darker than most my other fics, but it involves Crimson Peak, so that's a given.<br/>Also spoilers for the movie. </p><p>My goal is to have all parts done by the end of October (by Halloween)<br/>Anyway, comments and kudos always appreciated, thank you for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After hours and days of researching our vacation to Cumbria with my boyfriend, I imagined us driving through the beautiful hilly green landscapes of northern England. I did not imagine myself sitting in a cold rental car, driving into the growing darkness of the absolute unknown.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Michael had insisted after talking with the locals that this will be the best Halloween experience in my life. However, the further and further we drive into the seemingly endless country roads, the more I begin to feel a growing knot of anxiety pull on my stomach. <em> There’s nothing out here...where is he taking me? </em>We had stayed in the Tebay’s Service Hotel the past two nights. The cultural charm and modern luxuries of the place are something I greatly miss at this moment. </p><p>Glancing over to my right, I am granted little comfort as I see Michael’s smug smirk and confident grip on the steering wheel. <em> So weird sitting in the passenger seat on the left side. I wonder who first decided to make American cars different...or was it the Europeans that- </em></p><p>“Do you believe in ghosts, Amelia?” Pausing from my thoughts, I open my mouth to answer and frown in curiosity of where this conversation is headed. I glance back over at him and answer in slight hesitation. </p><p>“Well, I don’t know. I guess I believe in a spiritual world, I mean I feel naïve thinking that we just die and that’s it. There’s gotta be something after we die, why?” He chuckles in a way that raises goosebumps over my skin. </p><p>“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you believe ghosts are real?” Why was he asking me this with such a somber seriousness? <em> Perhaps Halloween has really gotten to him this year.  </em></p><p>“Ugh. I don’t know Michael. I guess haunting ghosts that moan and yell “boo” at little kids, no. I don’t believe in that stuff.” He remains silent and all we hear again are the tires rolling over the deserted rocky gravel road. </p><p>“You and I are going to find out for sure tonight.” <em> Wait, what? </em> </p><p>“Michael, enough bullshit, where are you taking me?” My frustrating demand makes him tighten his grip on the steering wheel and I swallow harshly. </p><p>“It’s a surprise, I told you that already.” I back down slightly with my tone, but my heart begins to thud hard and heavy in my chest as I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on top of my jean clad knees. </p><p>“Okay, I get it, you want to surprise me, but we are in the middle of freakin nowhere and I’m thinking I should have peed again before you invited me on this surprise trip.” I see him roll his eyes.</p><p>“We’ll be there soon.” Well good. My little bladder is more excited than I am hearing that. </p><p>“Kay.” I mumble into my knees. The stupid rental car’s heat is broken and the crisp October night’s air seeps into the car. Pulling down my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands, I curl up in a ball as best as I can with the seatbelt in the way. </p><p>“I know you did research before we came to the UK. Did you come across anything that mentioned...Crimson Peak?” He keeps his tone steady and his eyes on the road. I bite my lip to keep my teeth from chattering now as my toes have grown numb in my thin sneakers. <em> Crimson Peak..it actually does sound familiar. </em> I believe I came across it once or twice, but I was more focused on learning about the landscapes and the roads and buildings we would be staying at and seeing.</p><p>“I think so, but I didn’t investigate much further.” Then a thought hits me. “Wait. Is that where we are headed?!” My reply is a shit eating grin on my boyfriend’s face that gives me the unfortunate confirmation. </p><p>“The locals warned me never to go out this way or to that place.” <em> Then why the hell are you taking me there? </em> “Claiming that the place is haunted, that the incenstual siblings still roam the house.” <em> Incestual siblings...what the fuck. </em> Before I can open my mouth and say something, he continues. “The story goes like this. Over a hundred years ago, the Sharpe siblings killed their parents when they were just kids. Years later they would lure young innocent women to their home and murder them one by one, none of the poor bitches knew Mr. Sharpe fucked his sister. Apparently the place is built on red clay and the stains of it are all over the grounds and the home. I wonder if it’s the clay or the blood of their victims that stains the insides of the house.” I clutch the sleeves of my sweatshirt tightly and can’t help shuttering at the horror in his words. </p><p>“What...what happened to the siblings?” Part of me needed to know, but the rest of me screamed the opposite. I am deeply disturbed seeing an almost gleeful gleam in Michael’s eyes. </p><p>“One of the women they had lured, killed the sister. Her body was found outside with her head bashed in. The other one, he was found upstairs bleeding from several stab wounds. I don’t know what they did with the bodies. But here’s the really cool part.” <em> Cool?! </em> My mouth drops open and my eyebrows raise to my hairline hearing that admission. “The rumors are that you can still hear the clinking and tumbling of Mr. Sharpe’s inventions and the echo of the sister’s piano playing throughout the house.” He glances over at me chuckling in sick amusement as my face remains horrified and my mouth gapes open. </p><p>“What...what about <em> that </em> is amusing to you?! That’s...it’s horrifying and disgusting if any of that is true! Please, let’s just turn around and call it a night. We can go out and explore tomorrow.” I can’t help but raise my voice a little. His eyes darken ever so slightly after my complaints and plea. <em> Why can’t we just turn around. Maybe his goal was to freak me out...goal achieved. Please turn this damn vehicle around.  </em></p><p>“Just shut up! I went through all this trouble to give you a Halloween surprise and you’re acting like an ungrateful brat.” Taking a deep breath in to calm myself, I recognize his instant mood change. </p><p>“Look, Michael, I am happy you thought to surprise me with a scary Halloween story. Thank you. But now I am cold, hungry, and have to pee. All I want to do is turn around and snuggle back in our comfy hotel. Please?” Keeping my voice gentle, I gaze at him, begging with my eyes this growing nightmare would end. </p><p>Instead, he slams his hand against the steering wheel and growls in anger, making me flinch. The impact turns the wheel slightly and the car swerves on the road. My hand immediately grabs the car door handle to steady myself. I remain quiet as the pounding of my heart threatens to send me into a panic attack as the feeling of being trapped begins to overwhelm me.</p><p>Michael takes several deep breaths to attempt to calm himself. Even in the relative darkness I can still see the anger flushed on his face from the gleam of our car lights. </p><p>“You will not complain again and you will sit there and be damn grateful I even thought to do this for us. Not many couples get the chance to explore something like this together. I put a lot of planning in this for you yesterday.” I shut my eyes so he doesn’t see the exaggerated eye roll from his obvious attempt at guilt trip. I’m not stupid, but there’s nothing I can do now except to do what he says. </p><p>“I am grateful. Thank you, Michael.” Although my voice is flat and borderline sarcastic, he doesn’t seem to notice. The rest of the traveling is done in silence. </p><p>After about a half hour, thick fog begins to creep onto the gravel road and greatly disrupts any sense of direction. Almost as if nature itself is protecting us from seeing something that shouldn’t be seen. Or attempting to impede on the efforts of traveling to our destination. Silently, I thank the fog for its efforts, but know hardly anything stops Michael from his goals. A trait in him I used to admire. </p><p>Finally, for the first time in several minutes, I see something other than land, trees, and fog. A tall metal rustic gate grows into view as the fog dissipates. Still gazing out my window, the car finally slows to a stop. <em> I guess we’re here. </em>The lights from the car shine on the barred bent towering gate. Across the top are letters. Squinting, I am only able to make out the letters A, L, L, E, R, D? The rest of the eroded letters are difficult to read in the darkness. </p><p>Stepping out of the car and into the chilly night air, I shiver again hugging myself for warmth. <em> Hopefully we won’t be here long. </em>Peering through the gate I see a large dark gothic mansion.</p><p>I jump slightly hearing the slam of the trunk. Turning around to face Michael, I see him with our bags and a flashlight. <em> When did he put our luggage in the car?!  </em></p><p>“Wait...we are staying overnight here?” The disbelief is heavy in my high pitched question. </p><p>“Of course, Amelia. You didn’t think we’d drive all this way out for a short visit and picture, did you?” His mocking and amused voice answers. The ray of light from his flashlight streams into the dark sky while the sliver of a moon hides behind thick clouds. As he tilts the light ray towards the top of the gate, I am able to put all the letters together. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“Allerdale Hall?” I continue to frown in confusion towards the menacing looking structure. Michael chuckles.</p><p>“Yes, Amelia. But it is better known as Crimson Peak.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. LEAVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Don't want to spoil anything, but as expected there's ghosts.<br/>Some WARNING tags apply (domestic abuse/violence) to this chapter fyi.</p>
<p>Since one of pics is an original piece of still life art, the credits for the tea cup pic go to Jaroslaw Blaminsky.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> BANG! BANG! BANG!  </em>
</p>
<p>“I th-think it’s l-locked.” My numb lips and chattering teeth make it ever so difficult to speak as the chilled night air sweeps over us. Michael continues to yank and pound on the intimidating large doors of the gothic mansion. </p>
<p>“No dumb shit. I’m gonna bust it open though. I didn’t drive all this way to hit a dead end.” His aggravating tone makes me take a step back. I can’t help but notice the odd crumbling machine in the yard. <em> Must be filled with rust now, but I wonder what it’s function was back in the day. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> BANG! </em>
</p>
<p>“I-is it even s-safe to go inside? It looks l-like it’s ready to co-collapse!” Michael’s anger filled motions are clumsy and stiff as he digs through his pockets. I’m about to ask what he needs when he pulls out a rather large and sharp pocket knife. My eyes widen and I gulp as a lonely ray of moonlight catches the glint of the metal blade and Michael’s mad smile. He begins to uncoordinatedly dig the knife into the wedge between the doors. </p>
<p>“It’s not gonna collapse, stupid. They started foundational and structural repairs in the 60s.” He grunts as he works against the doors that do not want us to enter. I frown as his reply catches up to my hypothermic brain. </p>
<p>“Started? Wha-what about when they f-finished?” I bundle my painfully numb fingers under my arms and wiggle my equally numb toes. <em> Of course I didn’t bring warmer boots or a fall coat. Hell, I could use my winter coat right now.  </em></p>
<p>“They were unable to finish.” </p>
<p>“W-why?” </p>
<p>
  <em> BANG! CLATTER! CREEEEEEEEEEK </em>
</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah! Knew I could do it.” My hope sinks of returning to the car tonight as I step back again for the dark thick door to open. I cringe at the fierce creek, sounding as if the doors were crying out in agony by being forced open. <em> Probably haven’t been open since they did renovations.  </em></p>
<p>“They didn’t finish cause they died.” And that is all the explanation I receive as he lugs our bags through the entrance. </p>
<p>Shuttering, I step inside and am greatly disappointed to find the temperature similar, if not colder than that of the night air. Seeing the gaping hole in the lofty ceiling, I understand why that is. I wrinkle my nose smelling something of a mix between dirt, dust, and decay. Although quite dark, the expansive entrance and multiple floor balconies are visible in the moonlight. The intricate woodwork that must have once been polished and beautiful, now rots and decays with layers of dust. A grand fireplace is seated straight ahead of me. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em> Fire. Warmth. Yes, please. </em>As I begin walking almost hypnotized by the idea of gaining warmth, my foot lands in a cool oozing thickness that sinks into the thin fabric of my sneaker. </p>
<p>“Ahh! Give me the freakin flash light. I just stepped in something gross.” I can almost hear the eye roll as he huffs at me while handing over the light source. My stomach lurches and the color drains from my face as the bright light shines on my now crimson shoe. </p>
<p>“I-is that blood?” Michael, who was ahead of me, turns back hearing the panic in my voice. Of all the reactions, I didn’t expect him to throw his head back and laugh. His boisterous unkind howl echoes throughout the empty walls of the mansion. </p>
<p>“You idiot, did I not say the house was built on red clay?” Despite the chill, I blush in embarrassment from my reaction. Ignoring my soiled shoe, I follow him under the arch into the fireplace room...with a piano? Although filled with layers of dust, the grand piano calls to me and I run my fingers delicately over the fading keys. Surprise fills me to see yellowing pages of sheet music still sitting perfectly in the stand, waiting for someone to play. </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The deep admonishment in his tone confuses me, but I quickly retract my hand. Michael pulls out matches and begins igniting the wood...<em> where did he get the wood from? </em> I shake my head and make my way over to him.</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“That’s Lucille Sharpe’s piano.” I kneel down next to him as the first spark ignites into a small orange flame. </p>
<p>“You mean...<em> was </em>. She died like over a hundred years ago you said. A rotting corpse isn’t going to care if I-”</p>
<p>
  <em> CLING, CLANG, THUD  </em>
</p>
<p>Yelping with my heart in my throat I spin around towards the piano. </p>
<p>“That’s...that’s impossible.” My voice comes out in a shaky whisper, followed by Michael’s chuckling. The stand attached to the piano and sheet music had broken off and fallen onto the floor. Based on the sound, it clattered against several keys before landing.  </p>
<p>“I gotta say, that was perfect timing for that to fall over.” <em> Fall over?! </em></p>
<p>“Michael. Do you realize that the stand was fastened to the piano. It didn’t just fall...it was snapped off. And after all these decades, why would it just suddenly fall?! Did...did Lucille get mad at me?” My voice grows quiet towards the end and my heart still beats like a wild beast in my chest. </p>
<p>“Do you hear yourself, how ridiculous you sound?” Not only am I gaining warmth from the growing flames, but also from my building anger and fear. </p>
<p>“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one that said not to touch it cause it was hers! Make up your mind, do you believe in ghosts or not Michael.” My firm tone catches him off guard and he narrows his eyes at me. </p>
<p>“I don’t like your attitude. I told you, we’re gonna find out tonight if they’re real.” </p>
<p>“After that just happened you have doubts, seriously? Well, my mind is made up.” <em> That was way too freaky to be a coincidence. She must have heard me. Wait...does that mean...all the rest of what Michael told me is true? The hauntings, the incest, the...murders? </em>A harsh yank on the front of my sweatshirt brings me back to the present. I find my face inches from Michael’s as his fist clutches firmly to my clothing. </p>
<p>“And what’s your mind made up to think?” Wincing from the odd angle of my ankle from being tugged forward on my knees so quickly, I swallow harshly to gather my thoughts before speaking.</p>
<p>“J-just that I think they’re real. At least the possibility of them is...not as unbelievable as I had once thought.” It must be a neutral enough answer because he slowly loosens his grip and stands up. I frown as he begins heading back through the way we came.</p>
<p>“I left something in the car. I’ll be back.” Panic fills me from head to toe and I stand so fast I see black spots. </p>
<p>“You’re not, not leaving me here...right?” <em> Oh shit. Not the right thing to say. </em>Before I can apologize, he’s storming back over towards me. </p>
<p><em> SLAP! </em>Not the hardest he’s hit, but the burning sting on my face still brings tears to my eyes. </p>
<p>“You are just a little ungrateful brat, aren’t you? After all I’ve done. Who paid for this vacation, huh? Why the fuck would I leave you and drive back to the hotel, just to drive back here and pick your sorry ass up again in the morning? Why, I outa-” </p>
<p>
  <em> CRASH!  </em>
</p>
<p>We both jump at the startling shatter, and Michael steps away to investigate. I follow, but stay a good distance behind him. Surprisingly, I find myself feeling relieved by the eerie shattering sound from a supposedly empty room in the house. It saved me from Michael’s threat, that's for sure. With the flashlight, we find ourselves in a kitchen. </p>
<p>“What the hell?” Michael bends over to inspect pieces of what appears to be large shards of a once beautiful tea cup. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>As he touches one of the pieces, I stand up to be sure there is no one else here. Unfortunately, my eyes land on the figure of a glaring pale man in a dark suit standing in the doorway. A rapid chill runs down my spine, but the moment I blink, he’s gone. <em> Am I losing my mind?  </em></p>
<p>“Well, that’s odd. But still, could have been too close to the edge or some’thin.” Michael’s deduction of reasoning is very tempting to question, but I bite my tongue from commenting. “I’ll be back.” </p>
<p>Now finding myself alone in the house without the flashlight, I hurriedly make my way back to the comforting glow of the warm fire. <em> Did I just see...no. That’s impossible. </em>My adrenaline filled body makes my hands shake as my senses prepare me for something to jump out at me. Glancing back over to the piano, my gut churns in nauseating knots when I think of the growing possibility of the Sharpe siblings still lurking in this decaying mansion. </p>
<p>“Lu-Lucille. Um, M-Mr. Sharpe, sorry I don’t know your first name, sir. Maybe you prefer the more formal approach anyway, being from the Victorian era and all.” I wince at my rambling. <em> These ghosts probably just want to be left alone. After all, didn’t they kill all those women they lured here?  </em>“I think you, Mr. Sharpe, were the one who knocked over the cup? I-is that your way of asking us to leave? So-sorry Lucille for touching your piano. I uh, promise to keep my hands off the beautiful instrument. I-is that what you guys want, for us to get out of here?” The crackles and pops of the calm fire fills the empty response. Beginning to feel ridiculous, I sigh and sit back down on the floor by the welcoming heat. </p>
<p>WHOOOOOSH</p>
<p>Jumping slightly, my mouth drops open seeing the sheet music glide across the floor. A choked off scream leaves me as the house groans and creaks. </p>
<p>“I-I-It’s just from the draft. The big hole in the ceiling. That’s the wind. Th-that’s why the paper moved.” Talking aloud helps, but it doesn't help convince me of what I say. I remain frozen to the floor with wide terrified eyes as the sheet music scuffles over to land right in front of me. I wet my dry lips and lean over with shaky hands to pick up the paper. My vision blurs and my breathing grows erratic from the fear that encases me. </p>
<p>No longer can I be convinced any of this is a coincidence. Impossible that even <em> if </em> the paper skimmed through a section of the red clay from the floor, the clay wouldn’t have stained the way it did. In sloppy thick letters written across the page that I now stare down at reads,</p>
<p>
  <em> LEAVE </em>
</p>
<p>Another loud creak and groan sounds throughout the bones of the house. This time when I look up, I wish I didn’t. A cold glare on the faded pale face of a woman in a long billowy black dress stares down at me as if I was the epitome of her disgust and hate. Again, when I blink, the figure disappears. </p>
<p>“Holy fuck.” My voice is pitched an octave higher and barely comes out in a choked squeak, but the absolute certainty of being surrounded by murderous ghosts fills me with panic and dread. </p>
<p>SLAM! </p>
<p>“Ahhhh!” Screaming at the top of my lungs, I clutch my chest and squeeze my eyes shut expecting the worst. </p>
<p>“What the hell is your problem. I said I’d be back.” Never have I been so relieved to hear Michael’s voice. Getting up to stand on my terribly shaky knees, I run over to him grabbing his arm, fiercely tugging him back in the direction of the front doors. </p>
<p>“We need to leave. Now! Like right now, please, come on. It’s not safe here.” It was never Michael’s height that was intimidating. He stands only half a head taller than me. No, it’s his broadness and thick bulging muscles that can be intimidating. His solid form now is what keeps me from sufficiently tugging him towards the exit. </p>
<p>“Wait, wait, wait. What the fuck has you peeing your pants?” <em> Oh, hell no. My body shut down my urinary system since you dragged my ass in here. </em> “I thought we were past this shit. We are staying. That’s final and...why are you shaking your head, no. Do you need a reminder not to piss me off?” I still frantically shake my head and feel tears rolling down my face. </p>
<p>“Y-you don’t understand, the ghosts want us to leave. P-please, can’t we respect them and leave them to their creepy peace?” I repeatedly whisper beg the word, please, over and over again like a crazy woman, still tugging on his arm. I flinch as he rips his arm out of my hold. </p>
<p>“Get your ass over here, <em>now</em>.” Grasping a chunk of my hair, he begins hauling me back towards the fire. </p>
<p>“Ouch! Dammit, let go of me. Michael, stop it. You’re hurting me!” It feels like he is ripping thousands of strands out of my head as he drags me back to where I saw Lucille. Finally he lets go. </p>
<p>“Explain what the hell your fit is about, before I get angry.” Letting out a sob, I feel faint from the adrenaline and fear running through my body. Not only are there murderous ghosts surrounding me, but Michael is teetering on one of his white out anger rages.</p>
<p>“Th-the paper. It h-has a warning on it. It s-says to leave. A-a-and I saw them! Michael, I saw them! BothofthemIsawthem!” </p>
<p>“Calm the shit down. What do you mean <em> saw them? </em>” </p>
<p>“The Sharpes! I-It was Mr. Sharpe w-who knocked over the cup. A-and th-the sister who knocked down her music. Th-they want us to leave.” He sighs loudly and roughly runs a hand through his hair. </p>
<p>“What warning?”</p>
<p>“O-on the sheet music. I-it says to leave.”</p>
<p>“Ghosts can write now? Okay, show me. For shits and giggles show me the paper, Amelia.” His tone is heavy in mockery and anger. I turn towards the fireplace where I had left the sheet music as Michael pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. </p>
<p>As I approach the thin sheet music, the air from my fast pace pushes it towards the fire. Before I can grab it, it ignites. “NO! nononono” <em> No no no. My one fucking chance to prove I’m not insane. </em>I hiss as the flame almost licks my fingers. </p>
<p>“What are you muttering about now, woman?” Standing up, I face him. <em> I’m doomed. </em>“Well, where’s this warning from Mr. Ghosty? I’m waiting.”</p>
<p>“It...it got too close to the flame. It’s gone.” He throws his head back and laughs. A dry mocking sound that makes me want to sink and disappear into the soggy floor boards. He steps closer to me and I flinch as he surprisingly, gently grabs my chin to tilt my head up towards his face. </p>
<p>“That is too convenient, wouldn’t you say? How she would we go about fix’in your ly’in habits, huh?” I open my mouth to speak, but only manage a whimper as his grip begins to tighten on my jaw. </p>
<p>
  <em> THUMP, THUMP!  </em>
</p>
<p>He lets go of my face, and turns in curiosity towards the noise over by the book shelves. While he’s distracted, a gleam from the fire light pulls my attention to his back jean pocket. <em> The car keys. </em> Almost hearing the whooshing of blood in my ears, I quickly scan the back of his head, making sure he doesn’t turn around. With stealth I didn’t know I had, I tiptoe closer to him while holding my breath. Swiftly, I wrap my fingers around the key ring to keep the metals from clanging together.</p>
<p>“What the fuck was that?” I jump back and fill my lungs with air in relief of not being caught. </p>
<p>“I-I’m not sure. But these random noises are what is freaking me out. I’m scared, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, Michael.” I’m a whimpering mess by now, but I firmly believe the human body is not supposed to undergo this much stress in one night. </p>
<p>He turns back to me with narrowed eyes. As he sees my dishevelment, I can swear they soften ever so slightly. </p>
<p>“Come here, baby.” The frustration and anger filled tone is replaced with a soothing softness that although I should be weary of, in my state I cling to it like a moth is attracted to light. I let his strong arms embrace me, and do my best not to stiffen when he pulls me in close to his chest. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Although it comes out slightly mumbled, he understands. </p>
<p>“Shhh, baby Lia. I’m here. I know what’s best for you. I want you to settle down and stop acting like you're bat shit crazy. Can you do that for me?” I wince as he not very gently rips through snarls while running his fingers through my hair.</p>
<p>It takes everything in me to choke up a vocal response while peering over his shoulder and staring at both the pale woman and man glaring directly at us. “Yes. I promise. I’m sorry. So sorry.” I shutter as I watch the woman fade away in black smoky waves. The man lingers and slowly lifts his arm up to point directly at me. Despite wanting to close my eyes, I keep them open to understand what he is trying to tell me. The outstretched arm and index finger pointing at me swiftly changes directions and I can only assume he’s now pointing at the front doors. His firm glare morphs into quirked brows of worry as he fades into nothing. </p>
<p>Still grasping on the object in my pocket to keep it from jingling, I close my eyes tightly and allow myself to feel one last hug from Michael. I did not apologize because I freaked out. I did not apologize because I was ungrateful. I apologized because I’m leaving him. Clutching the car keys tighter in my pocketed hand, I feel a rush of freedom at the thought of leaving alone. </p>
<p>
  <em> I’m getting out of here if it’s the last damn thing I do. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. You Can Run, But You Can't Hide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Amelia's plan of escape doesn't go well.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNINGS APPLY! </p><p>Never have I written something so graphic, but it was interesting to expand my writing genres. One more chapter after this!<br/>Thanks for reading :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael adds another log to the fire while I curl my knees into my chest, sitting on the floor beside him. I refuse to sit on any of the ancient elegant furniture that deteriorates only five feet away from us. <em> Either it will collapse or piss off the ghost siblings.  </em></p><p>My heart races in fear as I stare into the dancing flames. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Knowing Michael will catch me if I bolt for the doors, I have to be convincing enough for a reason to step outside. Inhaling a shaky breath, I finally notice what he has brought in from the car. </p><p>“What’s that?” Keeping my voice soft, I can’t help but be curious about the never seen before worn leather bag. Michael looks down at it for a few seconds and returns his gaze to me. </p><p>“None of your business. Don’t worry about it, and don’t touch it.” His voice leaves no room for argument, but creates an additional layer of anxiety for me. <em> Don’t touch it? What the hell is in there?  </em></p><p>“Oh. Okay.” I drum my fingertips on my jeans and desperately rack my brain for plans of escape. Michael stands up, walks over to his suitcase, and pulls out a few LED battery lanterns. We had used them in the past for camping, but we hadn’t planned to camp on our trip to Cumbria. <em> Why had he brought them then if he didn’t know about this place before yesterday?  </em></p><p>“It’s getting late. I’m gonna head upstairs to find us a bedroom for the night. The fire is bright enough down here, but I’m bringing these up with me. When I call you, bring the luggage up.” With that he takes the lanterns and heads towards the large wooden staircase in the entrance. <em> YES! This is it!  </em></p><p>“Sounds good, honey.” I sweetly reply. As I hear the creaks of Michael ascending the stairs, I run over and tightly grab the handle of my suitcase. <em> Now or never.  </em></p><p>Step after step, I force myself to hastily walk towards the exit of this hell hole. My arm shakes from the heaviness of my bag, but the adrenaline gives me the strength to keep it from dragging and making unwanted noises. In an almost elation of joy I reach the daunting doors. I extend my hand towards the handle.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” The deep threatening voice of Michael freezes my movements and it feels as if my heart stops beating. <em> Run! Go, escape! But he’ll catch up with you, he was in track in high school and college. Shut up, just go!  </em></p><p>Hearing the creak of the stairs, I realize too late he has reached the bottom of them and now stands only a few feet behind me. </p><p>“I said. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” Each step he grows closer until I feel a looming presence behind me. <em> Is it terrible of me to wish for it to be one of the ghosts instead? </em></p><p>“No-nothing. I just really, I needed some fresh air b-before spending the night in this dusty place.” Still not having turned around, I cringe at the shakiness in my voice. </p><p>“Just some night air, huh? Then go stand underneath the damn hole in the ceiling. Do you honestly want me to believe that bullshit? You have your suitcase in your hands, Amelia.” My eyes are squeezed tightly shut as his accusation ends in a growl. </p><p>“Y-you said to bring the suitcases up...so I was just being ready! I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to step outside.” He chuckles.</p><p>“Whatever. Not like you could get anywhere without the--” I realize he stops talking because he must have felt his now empty back pocket. A large painful hold on my shoulders spins me around so fast I get dizzy. Whimpering at the absolute storming glare I am faced with, I prepare for the worst. “Where are the keys?”</p><p>“I…” <em> Think of something, anything. Loose pocket, falling out, yes that will do. </em>“Th-the keys looked loose in your pocket. I-I didn’t want them to fall out, so I held on to them for you.” His eyes narrow in disbelief. </p><p>“Ahh!” A surprise yelp leaves me as he roughly begins digging his hands into my various pockets. Finding the car keys, he stuffs them into his own pocket, and shoves me backwards. The back of my head smacks firmly against the door. </p><p>“You try something like this again, I swear it will be the last thing you ever do.” Too startled by that threat, I trip as I am yanked forward by my wrist back towards the piano and fire room. <em> I thought we were going upstairs? Great. Now how the fuck am I going to get out of here. Maybe the ghosts will let us live through the night. One night, that’s all. We will leave in the early morning. </em></p><p>Feeling back in square one, I blink back tears from my pathetic failure as the bright warm glow attempts to offer comfort. I have been with Michael for three years now. It was months after we first started dating when I first noticed his behavior change from the charming boyfriend I knew. It began by being overprotective of me and being jealous of time spent with my guy friends. It was endearing at first, but it began to spiral out of control. Soon it wasn’t just guy friends...but friends in general. Then one day during a fight, he hit me. Just a slap across the face. I had planned on leaving him the following day. But he apologized, promising he’d never do it again. His apologies over time became so convincing, and the comfort and soothing words he’d say afterwards made me feel loved. It’s what I’ve clung to, but now I see no matter how many times he apologies, he will never actually be sorry for hurting me.</p><p>My eyes sting with the unshed waters of fear and sorrow that threaten to fall any minute. Tugging down the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I bite into the fabric to stifle a scream of frustration. I don’t notice during this time Michael moving around in the room until I startle hearing him drag one of the long elegant couches towards the fire. </p><p>“Get up here. I wanna show you something I found.” His enthusiastic tone makes me weary, but feeling as if I have had plenty of free passes from his rage this night, I do as he says. Although more comfortable than the floor, the couch cushions are thin and stiff with obvious moth holes deteriorating the fabric. Sitting down slowly, I stiffen as the wooden curved legs creak underneath me. </p><p>“Are you sure this can hold us both? It’s pretty old.” </p><p>“It’s fine. So, while you stared into the fire like a crazy cat lady, I snooped around a bit and found this.” With a shit eating grin, he holds up a faded black leather journal. He carelessly flips open to the first page and begins reading. “The diary of Sir Thomas Sharpe.” My stomach drops. <em> So the man ghost I’ve seen is named Thomas Sharpe. Oh goodness, no. Michael should not be touching his things. We’re already angering the spirits by being here! </em></p><p>“Wow. That’s um. That’s pretty neat. Maybe we shouldn’t read it though, cause it’s not nice to read other people’s private thoughts.” Michael tilts his head back and laughs. </p><p>“Awe. Caring about a dead man’s privacy. How sweet, Amelia.” I cringe and wait for something spooky to happen, but sigh in relief when nothing does. Michael roughly flips through the ancient journal to a random page and clears his throat dramatically.</p><p>“Oh my precious son. An innocent born from deep corruption. Although not having the chance to spend more than a few hours holding you in my arms, my sweet child, you are forever loved by your father. My heart sinks in the heaviness of guilt and pain. My sins have cursed you little one, to exist and perish. Love felt for you feels purer than the love I hold for Lucille, your mother. This convoluted and passionate love for her weighs me down as an anchor, sinking me into the deep. She grounds me, she protects me, she loves me. But how much pain has our love brought? How much suffering and death has our love produced? It is too much for me to bear now. I do not deserve to beg your forgiveness, but I vow to you my son, even if it defies the love I have for Lucille, I will no longer be the cause of an innocent’s death.” Michael slams the pages shut.</p><p>“...That is so sad. I didn’t know they had a baby.” My voice is thick with emotion. Tears spill down my face as I sniffle. I don’t think I have heard anything more tragic than that. <em> Thomas Sharpe was a father. Lucille was a mother. Yes, what they did was abhorrent and wrong, but they knew what it was to grieve a child. No one should suffer that. Murderers are not born. What happened to them that made them so twisted?  </em></p><p>“A baby? That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever read. Sharpe siblings fucked and had a kid? Good thing it died, that thing was probably messed up.” Before I can speak, the fire instantly roars and grows with life as if someone has poured a gallon of gasoline on it. Screaming, I bury my face into Michael’s shoulder to avoid the sudden heat and nearness of the flames. <em> Surely my heart will give out tonight. Dammit, Michael. Now the ghosts are beyond pissed. You literally just said the worst thing in the world to say to parents who have lost a child. </em>The flames finally settle back to their original distance and height, but I remain clutched to Michael like he is my life line. I don’t open my eyes either, knowing I’d more than likely see the angry parents themselves.</p><p>“What the hell happened? Did oil or gas leak into the fire?” He leans forward to get a closer look as I stare at him, amazed at his obliviousness to the supernatural. </p><p>“I don’t think they appreciated what you said. I wouldn’t have either.” He pulls me away from his shoulder, and frowns at me.</p><p>“Fine. Maybe it is them. Either way, we’re staying. They’ve had this house long enough to themselves, don’tchya think?” <em> Nope. As I’ve said before, they can have their creepy peace, I want to leave.  </em></p><p>“Sure.” It’s quiet for a while and a familiar burning pressure begins to return to my lower abdomen. <em> Dammit. </em>I shift and squeeze my legs closer together, but it hardly helps as it now has been several hours since I had last relieved myself. </p><p>“Why are you so squirmy?” I bite my lip and look around. </p><p>“I...I need a bathroom.” He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “No seriously. I’ve had to pee for hours now.” My whiney tone convinces him as he stands up rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Fine. I found a bathroom upstairs, down the hall. Come right back.” </p><p>After climbing the creaking stairs and hurrying down a dark hallway with the flashlight, I find the door that leads to the bathroom. The shaky stream of light from my flashlight lands on a white streaked tub.</p><p>
  
</p><p>No matter how much the now painful pressure in my bladder begs to be released, I can’t help but hesitate feeling a fear inducing presence that seems to cling to the walls of the room. A deep sadness and pain makes me wonder if something terrible happened in here. <em> I swear, if ghosts are watching me pee… </em></p><p>Finishing my business as quickly as I can and using the Kleenexes in my pocket, I swiftly pull my pants up and begin to run towards the bathroom door to leave the depressing atmosphere. Opening it, a blood curdling scream catches in my throat as the ghost of Thomas Sharpe stands in the doorway. White knuckled clutching to the flashlight with both hands, I remain frozen as the ray of light illuminates his transparent pale face and dark attire. His borderline frown and thin tight lips creates a dark and serious expression filled with a warning. I notice he has a cracked open wound on his left cheek.</p><p>“Get out now, while you still can.” A soft deep whisper dipped in honey travels to my ears from the ghost's lips. Although the tone and sound are soothing, the words themselves terrify me. My chest begins to hurt from the excessive rate and force my heart pounds at. </p><p>“I...I can’t leave. I’m s-stuck, I’m sorry. We'll leave in the morning, Thomas.” My voice is a hoarse whisper as I force the words out of my mouth. His form slowly begins to fade and his face contorts to that of worry again. </p><p>“Go, before it’s too late.” My wide eyes continue to stare at the now empty doorway. <em> Why are his threats so...gentle? But what does he mean about being too late? </em></p><p>I tiptoe hastily back down the stairs and manage to avoid most creeks. Peering into the fireplace room again, I stop and watch as Michael rummages through the unfamiliar bag. The distinct sound of rattling chains softly echoes and my mouth drops open as I see the thick metal ringlets being examined in his meaty palms. <em> What the hell could he possibly need chains for?  </em>My stomach rolls in discomfort as I begin walking towards him. A louder creak under my foot alerts him of my presence, and he hurriedly shoves the chain links back into the bag, away from my sight. <em> That’s a little more than concerning. </em> I kneel back on the floor and extend my chilly hands to the warmth of the flames. I ponder over Sir Thomas’s warning. <em> Or was it a threat?  </em></p><p>“Amelia, I spent thousands of dollars to take you and me here. I sacrificed my time and money to make you happy. Are you happy?” He scoots incredibly close to me as his shoulder brushes against mine. I swallow harshly.</p><p>“Yes. I-I’m happy. Thank you.”</p><p>“Show me.” Frowning, I look over at him. <em> What? </em></p><p>“What do you m-”</p><p>“Show me, Amelia. Show me how grateful you are.” He deceivingly gently brings his thick fingers up to the hair in my face and pushes the strands behind my ear. His touch brings a shiver down my spine and dread begins churning my stomach once again. </p><p>“Sh-show you?” <em> No. Anything but that. Not that, please. </em>He leans down and captures my lips with his. Startled and a little frightened, my lips remain frozen as he harshly moves his lips against mine. Panicking in a need for air, I pull my head back. Angered, he bites my lower lip hard enough that I taste blood. He pulls away with my lip between his teeth, finally letting go of the flesh in his bite. </p><p>“Ahhrhg! Dammit, Michael. What the hell, that really hurt.” Bringing my fingers up to my mouth, I press on the leaking wound of my torn lip. <em> What the hell, he’s never done that before. </em></p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt? Cause I’ll tell you right now, baby, it didn’t hurt as much as your rejection and ungratefulness did just now.” <em> Rejection?  </em>His hands wander low and creep around my waist as he harshly tugs me against him. Immediately I place my hands on his chest and begin pushing away, but in retaliation he digs his nails painfully into my sides making me whimper. </p><p>“Let go of me, dammit. I don’t want this right now, Michael, I’m sorry, but not tonight.” He relaxes his hold on me enough for me to scoot away from him. He doesn’t reply to me, but stares angrily into fire. The mad glint in his eyes frightens me. </p><p>“I wonder how they did it.” <em> What? What is he- </em> “I wonder where they did it. Was it a slow progression of torture or a quick painful blow that rendered them lifeless.” <em> Good heavens he’s talking about the murders. </em> I flinch as Michael takes out his pocket knife and continuously flips the blade up and down with the thumb stud. “I wonder if they were able to scream and writher or were they gagged and tied down?” <em> What the fuck. That's terrifying, he’s insane!  </em>Beads of sweat began to form on my scalp and forehead. Sitting so close to the large fire doesn’t help, but I feel as if I’d still be sweating if there were no fire. </p><p>“Hope-hopefully it was a quick painless death.” To my horror, Michael laughs. The cackle of amusement and mockery terrifies me to the core. </p><p>“I doubt it. Look at this fireplace. It’s large enough to fit <em> you </em> in there. I bet the Sharpe siblings threw the squirming scared bitches right into the burning heat. Watched as their skin melted off the bone…” Completely shaken and terrified at his words, especially using me as the example, I scoot far enough away to no longer feel heat on my skin. </p><p>“I wonder if Mr. Sharpe tried to include the women in the family. If maybe, the women were all just too...<em>ungrateful</em>. The parents of the siblings. Maybe they were just <em> ungrateful  </em>for having kids.” Michael stands with his knife still open and in hand. Turning to face me, he scowls deeply. “It’s really reminding me of someone else I know that has been extremely ungrateful these last few years. Especially now.” <em> Oh hell. Me?!  </em>With erratic breathing, I stand up on shaky knees as Michael makes his way slowly towards me. He seems to be enjoying every step he takes as a mad smile stretches across his face. </p><p>Quickly glancing to my side, I see my suitcase within reach. With my heart in my throat, I lunge for it and beeline for the front doors. Hearing heavy grunts and rapid footsteps behind me, I can’t help but scream. <em> Holy shit. He’s gonna kill me!  </em>Suddenly, he is no longer behind me, but in front of me blocking my exit with his knife pointing towards me. Stopping suddenly to keep out of his stabbing range, I attempt to catch my breath. </p><p>“MICHAEL! THE GHOST! I told you, HE’S REAL!” Pointing like a mad woman, he turns his head away from me to glance at where I had directed his vision. With all the strength in my adrenaline filled body, I swing my heavy firm suitcase up and over to land with a satisfying thud against the back of Michael’s head. </p><p>“Ahhhrg! You BITCH!” He screams at me as he stumbles over and falls. <em>Shit, didn’t knock him out like I wanted it to!</em> <em>Always thought he had a thick skull and no brain. </em>Although dazed, he’s not down enough for me to grab the car keys and pass him to leave, so with everything in me, I run up the steps. Ignoring the tears that begin forming and rolling down my face, I frantically search for a place to hide. </p><p>“YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE!” As if reading my mind, Michael shouts in an anger-filled scream. </p><p>Tearing down an opposite and unfamiliar hallway, I stop in my tracks to find my pathway blocked by the familiar form of a ghost. <em> Lucille. </em>For some reason she terrifies me more so than Thomas does. Her arms are crossed over her dark chest. The wispy black smoke surrounding her gives off a furious energy that dares me to step one foot closer. Her face storming in anger appears mottled black now. </p><p>“Please, help me! Which way should I go?!” She gives me a tight lip smile. </p><p>“I’m not my brother, Amelia. I do not care who lives or dies. I want to be left alone with my Thomas. You should have left when he told you to.” As her form floats closer, a distinct icy temperature fills the air. I jump as slow creaking and thud noises sound from the stairwell. <em> He’s going to get me. </em>Not being able to travel down the new hallway with Lucille threatening me, I dart back down the other one, and throw myself through the bathroom door. Slamming it shut, I spurt over to the bathtub and crawl inside. Pressing my back against the side close to the door, I wrap my hands tightly across my mouth to keep my breath quiet and prevent a sob from being released. I silently wince as my hand tightly presses against the bite punctures on my lip. </p><p>
  <em> CREAK, CREAK, CREAK </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please be the ghosts, please be the ghosts. How odd. Not long ago I had clung to Michael in fear of them, now I’d rather cling to the ghosts, well at least Thomas’s ghost. His presence didn’t give off frostbite temperatures when I stood in front of him.  </em>
</p><p>“Amelia, you’re making this a game, aren’t you?” Distant, but too frighteningly near chuckles echo down the hallway. His voice is muffled, but clear enough to hear as he draws nearer. “You know, it could have been easier if you just cooperated and sat still. Could have been grateful for all I’ve done for us, for you. Now I have to do something I wouldn’t rather do.” Silent tears run down into the dirty clay streaked tub and I curl into a tighter ball as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. </p><p>
  <em> CREEEAAAK, THUD.  </em>
</p><p>The bathroom door swings open and hits the wall. Lowering myself against the deep side of the tub, I realize I’m doomed. <em> I’m dead. He’s about to kill me. This is how I die, in a fucking bathroom. At the hands of my crazy fucked up boyfriend on Halloween night.  </em></p><p>“Amelia, I know you're in here!” He sing-songs like we’re in a horror film. <em> Shit I’m living a real life freaking horror film. </em>“I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Ever since I first learned of this place, I’ve felt...inspired to truly be myself. To not hold back who I am anymore. I’m gonna take what I want, and there’s nothing you, or anyone can do to stop me.” I feel light headed and fear passing out before I can defend my life, but as I hear him come to a stop hovering over my hiding place, I somehow stay conscious. </p><p>“There you are.” I let out a terrified cry as his announcement of victory is stated with a huge grin. Roughly reaching down, he grabs my upper arms and yanks me out of the tub. </p><p>“LET GO! LET ME FUCKING GO, YOU FREAK!” Kicking, biting, hitting, screaming, I attempt everything as he drags me down the hall towards a room with a faint glowing light. <em> The lanterns, he’s bringing me to the bedroom. </em>My foot manages to kick him hard enough in the shin for him to growl and tighten his grip on my arms. </p><p>“Ahhh! Let GO!” Viciously gripping my left upper arm, he jerks me up onto the bed. Blinding pain tears through that arm as I hear a nauseating pop in my shoulder. “Ahhhh! You monster, you j-just broke my fucking arm!” Sobbing and clawing at his face with my only good arm, more pain rings through my body as he backhands me harshly on my lower face. I feel a hot trickle of blood from yet another wound to my lip drip down my neck. My struggling freezes as he flips open the knife and holds it just close enough so I feel the blade tip when I swallow. </p><p>“All this pain you’re complaining about right now, it’s all your fault. We could have had a nice romantic evening here, but you always gotta make it difficult, don’t you.” He’s huffing out of breath from my struggles as he straddles me, and his careless hand holding the knife nicks my tender flesh. I attempt to bury my head as far down as I can into the mattress, but the blade follows my every movement. </p><p>“If you move, I swear to you, I will ram this knife through your skull.” Squeezing my eyes tightly shut once again, I feel the heaviness of Michael leave the bed. </p><p>
  <em>CLICK, CLANG</em>
</p><p><em> No. Nonono, please not be what I think it is. </em> I whimper and sob as I hear chains being pulled out of the mysterious bag. Other items are being taken out too, but I don’t have the mental strength to turn my head to see what tortures he has planned for me. <em> Is this how those women felt all those years ago? Over a hundred years ago, the fear of murder was probably the same. Perhaps they were even murdered in this very bed.  </em></p><p>I cry out in pain as Michael climbs back on top of me, jostling my injured arm. Heavy cold metal loops wrap around my wrists, pulling them together over my head. Screaming and turning my head to the side, I prepare to vomit from the fear and nauseating pain in my shoulder as he raises my arms. The large metal loops pinch the skin on my wrists as the long chain is fastened tight against the headboard. As the nausea settles enough for me to open my eyes, I look up at my murderous boyfriend. His demented smile and wild eyes stare down at me as he raises the knife up to my throat again.</p><p>A pointed pressure against the top of my sweatshirt along my neck has me holding my breath. Unexpectedly, he abruptly drags the knife down my chest, in between my breasts, and down to the tops of my jeans. White hot pain follows the knife movements, but I realize the pain is merely from a few long cuts. <em> These wounds aren’t enough to really hurt me. He isn’t trying to fillet me like a fish, what the hell is he...NO! </em>The superficial slash marks aren’t deep enough to bleed me out, but enough to split my sweatshirt, t-shirt, and bra open as he does now. The cool air hits my bare torso and breasts as little streaks of blood trickle down my sides and onto the mattress. A renewed sense of panicked energy fills me and I begin to struggle anew. </p><p>“See what I mean? I wonder if those women also writhed underneath Mr. Sharpe as they lived their final moments. I bet he also enjoyed the terrified gleam of tears in their eyes.” </p><p>“GET OFF ME! YOU, MONSTER! STOP IT, HELP! HELP!” My voice grows painfully hoarse as I scream from the top of my lungs. </p><p>“Shut the fuck up!” He growls at me as he digs the knife into my pant button and rips open the front of my jeans. “You deserve this. I’m not gonna go slow either. I’m takin’ what I want and you’re gonna lay here and accept it with gratefulness. This’ll teach ya the next time you act up.”</p><p>“Please, p-please, Michael. Stop, stop this, please.” I whine incoherently, begging as the energy to escape begins to leave my body. A firm backhand on my other cheek silences me. I taste the hot iron of blood again.</p><p>“Complain again, you ungrateful bitch, and I will thrust this knife up your cunt before I fuck you.” I bit down hard on my swollen wounded lip to keep the terrified scream from breaking loose at such a threat. <em> How do I know he won’t just do it anyway?! </em></p><p>
  <em> CRASH, THUD, CRASH! </em>
</p><p>“What the hell?” Michael removes the threatening blade from my cotton panties as he sits back up on his haunches to scan the room. </p><p>“HOW THE FUCK...WHO ARE YOU?!” My terrified mind thinks he is yelling at me again, so I tightly shut my eyes. However, as I hear the uncertainty in his voice, it gives me the strength to look up at him. Michael is not looking at me, but rather staring in fear at something next to us. He’s distracted. The room has also grown eerily freezing. I am able to see the steam of my breath. </p><p>“Leave us alone!” Michael pathetically begs to whatever is next to us. Curious and thankful for whatever distracts him, I glance over to see what’s there. A bloody smile spreads across my face as I see him. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Thomas’s stone cold glare is fixed on Michael, and the absolute enragement of his aura fills the room in temperatures of ice. <em> I am not alone. He’s fighting with me.  </em></p><p>Tugging with a force I never knew I had, the large chain links around my right wrist leave just enough room for my wrist to slide free. I clench my jaw as I do so because the fragile skin on my hand tears from where it was pinched in between the chain links. Before Michael is able to realize what is happening, I dart my bloody hand towards the loose hold he has on the knife. </p><p>Gripping the top metal handle of the blade and tugging it free from his grasp, I flip it around in my fingers to point the sharp end at the monster of a man above me. </p>
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